Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Marvel, Captain America - All Media Types
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Characters: Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Co-workers, Alternate Universe - Office, Office, Attraction, One-Sided Attraction, Awkward Flirting, Secret Admirer, Shrinkyclinks | Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes/Non-Serum Steve Rogers, Kissing, Boys Kissing, Making Out
Summary:
Steve Rogers hates corporate America, but he appreciates a good paycheck, decent benefits, and weekends off to spend time doing the things he loves. When Steve stops by the office on a Saturday to grab an item from his desk, he realizes he’s not alone. Bucky Barnes, Steve’s office crush, is in his cubicle where he spends every Saturday, apparently. Suddenly, weekends off don’t hold the same appeal. The office becomes Steve’s sanctuary—or maybe it’s just that Bucky makes every place seem like it’s exactly where Steve wants to be.
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I hope you don't mind a second ask from me. Beyond and Naomi for ask game.
You can send me asks whenever you want! Now, for the big reveals…
HOW DID I BINGO ON B. HOW-
I actually love B, but I especially love his dynamic with L. I definitely think L lied to Naomi when he told her he didn’t know B personally. In my mind they were Wammy’s House roommates and best friends, but A’s suicide drove them apart because B accused L of being a murderer and got, y’know…a little obsessive, to say the least.
I don’t ship B with anyone. I see him, A, and L as having a brotherly-type bond, and I think he and Naomi would be the worst match known to man. I was shocked that people actually took that ship seriously, but then I realized Tumblr ships stuff mostly ‘cause it’s hot, and I got a little less confused.
But only a little.
Naomi is a character I adore but never talk about. I labeled “wasted potential” because she didn’t have enough screentime in the main story. However, the LABB Murder Cases do her justice.
And speaking of justice, I absolutely love the kindness in justice theme in the LABB Murder Cases. It not only shows L to be a kindly, sweet person at heart, it also carries forth the idea that justice may prevail even if it’s brutal against the criminal, which I believe in firmly. I think the idea that no one should be punished for their crimes is stupid and foolish, and sometimes the most loving thing you can do for someone is deter them from doing something that’ll hurt themselves and others. I love Naomi’s arc for that reason.
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fried egg I'm in love
Eddie makes you breakfast.
Contains: Eddie x Reader, fem!reader, established relationship, pet names, Eddie fries you some eggs because you should always eat breakfast before a big day. No mention of reader’s physical appearance, no use of Y/N.
Warnings: mentions of food & eating (obvi).
Word Count: 1,200-ish
i am completely delighted by @mcbeanzontoast 's artwork and these sweet lil drawings (1, 2) of Eddie are all i can think about, thank u for the inspo bb! <3
btw srry if this isn't how you like your eggs or if u hate alt-rock themed puns. but personally i feel very strongly about the over-medium thing.
“Eddie. Eddie.”
There’s still no response from the motionless lump on the bed. He’s twisted up in the thin, pilled sheets like he tried to fight them and lost.
His breathing is slow and even, clearly still in a deep sleep. You hope his dreams are pleasant, but not so pleasant that he’ll be upset with you for what you’re about to do.
You lean closer to where you think his ear might be. It’s hidden under a mass of thick curls, but you're pretty sure you’re in the right spot.
“Eddie!”
It comes out even louder than you intended. Oops.
“Huh!”
Eddie jolts awake and tries to roll over, but only succeeds in tangling himself further in the bedding. He squirms and struggles against the taut fabric for a minute, before giving up and letting his body go limp. His face scrunches against the brightness of the room, peering at you with squinted eyes.
You, who have already been awake for an hour. You, who have already washed and dressed and tidied yourself up. You, who are looking at him rather expectantly…? His full lips pull down in a frown.
“What gives?” he grumbles, unhappy to be conscious before noon. As usual.
“Sorry honey, but you didn’t hear me the first four times I tried.”
He sighs, then lets out a sudden gasp. He tries to sit upright, lurching sideways, still thrashing against that damn sheet. “Your interview!”
Bingo!
“Yes, my interview,” you say, too amused and in love with him to be exasperated. “Don’t worry, we still have plenty of time. But you can barely function when you first wake up and I can’t have you falling asleep behind the wheel. I figured I’d get you up now so you have time to adjust.” You reach out and cup his face, rubbing a thumb over his stubbly cheek.
He turns his head in your hand so he can kiss your palm. “Good thinkin', sweetheart. That’s why you’re the brains of this operation.”
You help untangle him and wander out into the kitchen while he heads for the bathroom. Because even bone-deep exhaustion is no match for Eddie's mouth, he pokes his head out so he can talk to you. “How’re you feeling, baby?” The words are garbled and foamy with toothpaste.
“Okay,” you call back from your seat at the table. Well, that’s kind of a lie. “Actually, I’m really nervous, but that’s normal, I guess.”
You really want this job to work out. Eddie’s dying for you to come and live with him in his apartment, but you want a little more financial stability before you move out of your place. You promised him that once you landed a higher paying job you would take the leap. The shiny prospect of perpetual domesticity with your favorite boy is riding on this position, and it's making you gut-wrenchingly antsy.
“You’re gonna be great!” he shouts from around his toothbrush.
Eddie joins you in the kitchen, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He’s in nothing but his boxers and mismatched wool socks. One is maroon, the other is green with stripes. “Great. You hear me? They’d be lucky to have you. In fact, you should be interviewing them, asking why they deserve to be your employer.” He’s teasing you, but he also means it.
Your stomach flutters at the praise, and at the sight of all that skin he’s showing. You know in your heart that he’s still so warm from sleep.
He yawns, and stretches dramatically. “Have you eaten yet?”
You chuckle and shake your head. “No way. No appetite.”
“Well, you gotta eat. You need fuel on a day like today.” He crosses his arms and frowns at you.
That's humorous, coming from the guy who attended six years of high school running on nothing but mini-pretzels and Mountain Dew. “Eddie, I’m way too anxious to eat right now.”
“Listen, you’ll feel worse if you don’t eat. Because if you don’t have something in your belly, and you’re nervous, you’ll get lightheaded and pass out in the middle of the interview, in which case you won’t get the job, 'cause then they’ll all be thinking, ‘This girl has the temperament of a fragile Victorian woman. Why is she even here? She should be sent to the seaside for her health.’ You know?”
“I…guess so?”
“Trust me, sweetheart, you have to eat breakfast. Let me make you something.”
The Something in question is simple: toast with butter, and fried eggs, over-medium. “Runny enough to dip, but cooked enough so there’s no snotty white stuff,” he says sagely. “It’s the only way to eat 'em.”
You hum in agreement, but you’re more focused on the way he looks standing half-naked in front of the stove, spatula in hand, a cigarette dangling from his lips.
He insists on making your portion first, sliding the plate in front of you and kissing your head when it’s done. “Eat up, doll.”
You thank him quietly and start to eat, watching as he goes through the process over again for himself. Now that he’s taken care of you, some of the tiredness he was staving off returns. His movements get clumsier as his attention oscillates between assembling his breakfast and being your personal cheerleader. He bumps into the counter, nearly burns his fingertips on the stove, and knocks over a glass of orange juice, but steadfastly refuses your offer to take over. Stubborn. You put a pot of coffee on for him.
You feel calmer now, watching his ministrations, listening to his reassurances. You've found that Eddie’s presence seems to be the salve for all your silly little troubles. His throaty morning-voice and dimpled smile send a rush of warmth through you, putting you at ease, like a cup of something hot on a cold day. You feel so lucky to be loved by him.
While you’re adoring him, trying not to get misty-eyed thinking about it, your sweet boy’s about to transfer his second egg to his plate. He's almost done it when he’s wracked with another full-body yawn. It's powerful enough that his eyes close, and his arm jerks the wrong way, and the egg slips out of the pan. It hits the kitchen floor with a wet slap.
Quickly, he looks down, then at you, and then back at the egg. In one swift motion he scoops it up off the floor. “Five second rule.”
You wrinkle your nose. “Ed…” You’re tempted to chastise him more thoroughly because who knows when that floor was last cleaned? Certainly not Eddie. But the way he’s doting on you today makes you hold your tongue.
He shrugs. “Fine. I’ll wash it off.”
He turns the sink on so a thin stream of water comes out. He picks the egg up with his hands, and holds it under the faucet, turning it carefully so that each side gets a gentle rinse. It gets tossed casually back onto the plate.
Completely unbothered, he joins you at the table and digs in.
He finally catches the look on your face. Without swallowing the huge bite of food he just popped in his mouth, he goes -
“What?”
Afterwards, Eddie drives you to your interview just like he promised he would. When you emerge from the building some thirty odd minutes later, feeling victorious, he's right there to celebrate with you.
Neither of you say it, but you're both thinking the same thing. One bed. One kitchen table. One little apartment. One home.
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